


Secret Sinner

by runoutofwit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Begging, Blasphemy, Blowjobs, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Facials, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, PWP, Priests, Rimming, Rough Sex, Smut, Unsafe Sex, desecration of religious objects, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runoutofwit/pseuds/runoutofwit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester was always pretty sure that he was going to Hell. Seducing a priest, however, is surely a one-way ticket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Sinner

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, please excuse the terribly cheesy title. I’m not very good at thinking up creative names for anything. This was originally meant to be a 1k or less blurb… That didn’t work out too well. I was in a creative slump and asked for suggestions on something to write. Someone asked for priest!kink Dean/Cas with young!Dean. This was the result. It feels really good finishing something for the first time in awhile. With college started, I haven’t had time to do much writing, so this was a nice change of pace. For anyone reading my other story, “Behind Closed Doors,” I have not given up on it. As I said, I’ve been very busy with school and sort of in a writing slump, but no longer! Hopefully this very classy porn will make up for me being awful at updating.

Dean hates going to church. Or, rather, he _hated_ going to church. So when Sam dragged him there for Easter mass, Dean was less than enthused. The hymns practically put him to sleep, but when the sermon started up, the young man quickly perked up. 

He wasn't sure at the time if he should have blessed Sam or damned him for making them sit so close to the front, because Dean was getting an eyeful. The priest looked rather young--well, in priest's terms. He was probably in his mid-thirties, so not the wrinkled, smelling, nearly-blind dude that Dean had expected to lead this thing. He was handsome, actually, dark stubble along his strong jaw and bright, piercing eyes. And his voice--God, his fucking _voice_. It was nearly pornographic, low and rumbling, rough as sandpaper and shaking Dean to his core. He found himself staring at the man's lips, thinking of all the things it could do to him, how perfect it would look stretched around his cock.

By the second reading, Dean was already pitching a rather embarrassing tent. 

When mass finally ended, Dean wasn't sure if he was relieved or upset, but he was definitely frustrated. He got up with Sam, but of course the kid had to make a bee-line straight for the hot priest, which meant he had no choice but to follow.

"Congratulations, Father Castiel. You did great!" Sam grinned, and the priest nodded.

"Thank you, Sam. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," he dragged his gaze up to Dean, raising a brow. "And this would be...?"

"Dean. I'm his brother," the brunette was quick to reply, holding out his hand. He flashed a charming smile, and when the priest shook his hand, the Winchester might have gripped him a little harder than usual.

"It's nice to see you here, Dean. I am Father Castiel Novak. Sam informed me you were not interested in the church." 

"Oh, no. I'm definitely interested," Dean replied with a sideways grin. “I was actually hoping to learn more about this whole thing.”

“Oh, really?” Castiel asked, and the smile on his lips was definitely not helping Dean control himself. “That’s wonderful. If there’s anything I can do to help, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“There’s a few things you could help me with, actually,” he replied, knowing Sam was giving him a look for using _that tone_ , and took just a half-step forward. “I wanna learn all about this… stuff. Do you have office hours or something? Sometime I could stop by and you could teach me a few things?”

“Tuesday nights, I am always here from seven to… Well, rather late, studying. You could come then, if you’d like.”

And if Father Castiel knew all the dirty, awful, amazing ways that Dean was taking that sentence, he didn’t show it.

“Awesome. I’ll see you then.”

\---

“Dean, you can’t flirt with a priest.”

The eldest Winchester feigns shock, knocked out of the half-baked fantasy that was playing in his head. He sets his fork down on the plate and puts a hand over his heart. “I would never do that! Honestly, Sammy, it hurts that you think I would.”

Sam looks rather unimpressed, shaking his head. “Dean, I’m sixteen, not six. You _cannot_ flirt with a priest, let alone have sex with him. And Father Castiel is a really nice guy.”

“Hey, if he’s willing, I don’t see the problem. _Not_ that I’m looking to get laid.”

“Dude, you’re _always_ looking to get laid.”

Dean just grins in response and gives a noncommittal shrug. “He’s got a fine ass, though, you’ve gotta admit.”

“Eugh, Dean. _Gross_.”

\---

When he goes to visit Father Castiel, the man opens the door with a smile.

“Hello, Dean. It’s nice to see you again.”

It’s only been two days, and, _damn,_ how he’s missed that voice. Dean walks into the small office (which really looks more like a closet, to be honest), and lets loose a long, low whistle at all the books.

“You read all these?” he asks, gesturing around with his finger.

“Most of them, yes,” Castiel nods and watches as Dean walks around the tiny room, goes behind the desk, takes his time gazing at the office’s many oddities.

Dean comes back around to stand next to the priest, looking him up and down for a moment before reaching forward to gently tap the white square of the man’s collar. He watches Father Castiel’s eyes widen slightly and the light flush that seems to spread like a fire from where his finger presses.

“What’s the deal with the dog collar?” he asks.

Father Castiel clears his throat, reaching up to adjust it slightly. “It is a clerical collar. It’s a symbol of clerical dress,” he replies sharply. “It’s also very disrespectful to refer to it as a ‘dog collar’.”

“Sorry,” Dean shrugs. “Didn’t mean to offend.” He glances back to the desk which is covered in books and papers. “Were you working on something?”

“Oh, uh, yes,” the other nods. He makes to move past Dean, but the young man doesn’t make room for him, forcing their fronts to slide across each other. The Winchester subtly adjusts his hips so that their crotches briefly rub together, and he has to suppress a grin when he watches the man turn pink. Castiel goes to sit down at his desk, but Dean remains standing, peering down. “I was reading up on patron saints and angelology. It’s, uh, quite interesting.”

“Really?” Dean slides in behind Father Castiel and bends over so that his cheek nearly brushes the priest’s. “Looks interesting. Heh, that’s your name, right? Castiel.” The young man reaches over the other’s shoulder to press his finger to the word on the page.

He can hear the man swallow before he answers. “Uh, yes. I was actually named after him. He’s the… the Angel of Thursday and orphaned children.”

Dean gives an interested hum and knows how his breath escapes him and dances over the other’s neck. Suddenly, he pulls away and goes to the other side of the desk, taking a seat in the small chair. “D’you got a pen and paper? I don’t know anything about this religious stuff, and if you’re gonna teach me, I might as well take a few notes, right?”

Father Castiel nods, seeming much more relaxed now. He pulls out a notepad and grabs a pen from a coffee cup with some Bible verse on it and hands them to Dean. The young man takes them graciously, then crosses one leg over the other to make a sort of desk.

“So, Cas, where do we start?” Dean asks, popping the cap off a pen. He hears Castiel take a breath to say something, but it stops as soon as he puts the top of the pen in his mouth, looking up innocently. He can see the way the priest’s eyes dart to his lips and concentrate for a few moments, and it makes him a little giddy on the inside, watching the man swallow and toy with his collar like it’s gotten too tight.

“Father—Father Castiel,” he corrects, and finally brings his gaze to match Dean’s. “Always address priests as ‘Father’.”

“Well, can I at least call you Father Cas? It sounds better. Less of a mouthful.”

“Uh, yes. I guess, I suppose that is sufficient.”

Dean manages to make Cas turn red twelve times in an hour. The second time he only does it ten, but on his third visit, he gets a record seventeen blushes. It’s rather simple, too, just subtle things that Dean does. He’ll go to move by the priest and make sure he brushes the man’s ass. He’ll stand too close, chew on his pen, stretch in a way that shows off the strip of skin between the hem of his shirt and the top of his jeans. He learns quickly that most suggestive comments go straight over the man’s head, so he gives up on those pretty quickly, only ever making one when it’s too perfect an opportunity to pass up (even if Dean is the only one who will get it).

He learns a lot about Father Castiel, though. Honestly, Dean couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the actual religion stuff (though some of it makes for good, blasphemous masturbation fodder). And, of course, Dean doesn’t care that Castiel’s favorite food is cheeseburgers or that he loves Star Trek or that he spent ten years in the military or that his older sister died when he was seven or that Castiel’s father is out of the picture or that he’s so goddamn relatable and funny and smart, despite being socially awkward and less technology-savvy than even Dean.

And he definitely isn’t growing attached, because this is something that’s just supposed to be—is only _going_ to be—a fling, a flirtatious encounter, maybe a steamy make-out in the confession booth before they decides to never see each other again. So becoming fond over this nerdy dude was completely ridiculous and out of the question.

On their fourth meeting, Dean’s probably feeling a little too confident, especially with a whole truckload of repressed feelings fueling him. Sam has been giving him a lot of shit for going to church just to flirt with a priest ( _I’m pretty sure that’s a one-way ticket to Hell_ , Sam said), but Dean doesn’t care. After all, he can tell he’s not the only enjoying their meetings. He’s caught Father Cas staring at his lips on more than one occasion, and even found eyes on his crotch once or twice. He’s seen the man’s tongue flick out to wet his lips in those moments, seen him fiddle with his pen and adjust awkwardly in his chair while his face turned pink. No, Dean is certainly not alone in this.

Father Castiel is halfway through a lecture about the Pentecost and trying to show Dean pictures by tilting his monitor towards him. It only works slightly well, though, and finally the young man stands up and rounds the desk. He puts his hands on the back of the priest’s chair and leans forward, nearly brushing their cheeks together as he peers at the computer screen.

“These are… This is an ancient painting of…” Father Cas begins, but seizes up when one of Dean’s hands slides to his shoulder, then travels a little further down to his chest. For a moment, Dean doesn’t think he’s going to protest, but finally the priest finds his voice and says sharply, “Dean! Stop.”

Reluctantly, the brunette sighs and stands up while Father Castiel spins around in his chair to face him. He looks almost angry, especially with the red that’s creeping up from under his collar. Quickly, the man stands, and the younger one is only too aware of how close they are.

 “Dean, I was willing to let past instances slide. However, I can no longer allow you to continue your attempts at… making advances on me.”

He’s obviously trying to sound strong, but his voice wavers as he speaks, and he stumbles over his words. The grin that overtakes Dean’s face is downright wolfish, and he steps closer so that they’re just inches from touching. Green eyes travel up the body of the priest, soaking him in, and he watches it shiver under his gaze.

“You think _that_ was making an advance on you?” Dean asks quietly, and he slips a none-too-subtle hand between them to cup the older man, palming at the erection he knew would be there. A choked whimper forces itself from Castiel’s throat, and he puts his hands on Dean’s chest. “ _This_ is making an advance.”

He grabs the priest roughly by the waist and steps in. Dean almost kisses him, but ducks down instead and mouths at his neck, just above the collar. There’s a harsh whimper from Castiel as his fingers dig into the fabric of the man’s shirt, uncertain whether to pull him closer or push him away.

“Dean…” he murmurs, and it’s better than anything the young man could have imagined. How many times had he holed up in his bedroom, thinking about that voice gasping and moaning his name while he jerked himself to orgasm?  “I can’t.”

Father Castiel makes a weak attempt at pushing Dean away, but stills when Dean kneads the bulge in his pants. The priest bites his lip and releases a choked moan, and he pulls hard at the lapels of Dean’s leather jacket. Dean smiles and nips at the flesh, enjoying every single sound that the priest makes.

Dean uses the hand on the man’s waist to lead him over to a clear space on the wall and push him up against it. He slides a thigh between Castiel’s legs. Rutting against him, the man lets his head roll back against the wall. The brunette takes a moment to look the priest over, admiring.

The man’s mouth is parted, panting hot and wet as he slides his hands under Dean’s jacket, feeling at his ribs and chest. The bright hues of his eyes have gone dark and rake over the young man’s figure, and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips.

Dean grunts in appreciation before he pushes their bodies together, letting their lips meet in a clash of teeth and skin. The priest responds rather meekly, as if unsure of what to do, but he soon finds a rhythm and lets his mouth move with the roll of his hips. Castiel’s hands bunch in the fabric at the small of the man’s back and pull him closer, and he gasps quietly when their mouths come apart.

“Fucking criminal,” Dean purrs. There’s just a fraction of space between their lips as he smooths his hands down the priests’ sides, untucking the clerical shirt so that he can slide his fingers beneath it. He’s surprised to find light muscle rippling beneath the skin with each heavy, panting breath, ribs expanding and contracting.

“Tight ass… Perfect cocksucking lips…,” the younger man murmurs, pressing kisses up Father Castiel’s jaw until he reaches his ear. Dean grinds against him, feeling the priest shudder and writhe between his body and the wall. “And you pledge yourself to celibacy. Fucking criminal.”

Castiel bites back a moan when Dean sets a steady pace, rubbing their bodies together. A feral grin spreads over the brunette’s face as he moves his lips back down to the collar, biting at the flesh just above it.

“But you’ll let me use them, won’t you, Father?” Dean smirks, assured of his victory as the priest pulls him closer and grinds against him.

“Yes… Yes, Dean… Please.” Castiel’s voice trembles with every word. He sounds fucked-out already, and if it wasn’t for the erection pressed tight against his thigh, Dean would think the priest had already come.

Dean runs his hands up the man’s torso until they brush the collar. Castiel goes still when, and he stops breathing for just a moment. The younger man’s never really seen anything like this, so he searches desperately for a way to get it off. After a frustrating moment, the priest reaches up and helps him detach it from the shirt, pulling the strip of plastic off. He’s about to throw it to the ground when Dean catches it, pushing it back into Cas’ grasp.

“Put it back on,” he demands even as he unbuttons the priest’s shirt. Castiel closes his eyes and breathes out some indiscernible word, waiting until his clerical vestment is pushed off his shoulders before doing as he’s told.

The moment it’s on, Dean’s hands are upon him, running over the beautiful expanse of pale skin and muscle. Father Castiel arches into the touches and leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. As he admires the man’s body, Dean is half-tempted to laugh. The skin beneath his shirt is so pale; Dean wonders if this guy has gone outside shirtless ever in his entire life. It’s not a complaint, though, and the younger man covers the priest’s neck and shoulders in hungry kisses, biting and sucking harshly at the skin below the collar.

“What do you say, Father?” he asks, accentuating the request with a sharp clash of teeth where Castiel’s neck meets his shoulder. “You gonna get on your knees for me?” Dean’s not sure of the noise that comes from the other’s throat, but it makes him chuckle as he runs a thumb over one of the man’s nipples. “Can’t say I would be too disappointed if it were the other way around, though. Mm… I could give you—“

Surprised, Dean cuts off when the priest pushes him back and then almost literally falls to his knees. His hands clutch at Dean’s belt, tugging on it anxiously before trying to undo the buckle with clumsy fingers. The brunette laughs aloud this time, grinning down at the priest almost endearingly.

“Let me do it,” he says, and his voice is almost soft. He reaches down and brushes the man’s hands away, taking his time as he undoes his belt, buttons and zipper. He pulls himself out and gives the shaft a languid stroke, biting his lip as he does. Green eyes watch Castiel tracking every moment with parted lips just inches from the head of Dean’s cock. “If I’d known you were gonna be so hungry for my dick, I would’ve done this sooner.”

He raises his eyebrows at the look Castiel shoots him: mildly irritated and definitely impatient. It just makes Dean flash a sideways grin, though, because damn if this wasn’t going perfectly. He runs his fingers through the priest’s hair and musses it before he reaches down and grabs the collar still wrapped around his neck, forcing the man to look up.

“You do want it, don’t you?” Dean purrs, watching the blue eyes dart between his face and his cock. The priest licks his lips and nods, and he lets him go.

It takes a moment for Castiel to get started. As eager to please as he seems, he must take a moment to look everything over and edge Dean’s jeans down a little further down his thighs. He wraps his hand tentatively around the shaft, giving it an experimental stroke that makes a shiver run down both their backs. Calloused fingers run through the thick, dark hair, and Dean nods once as if to assuage any of the priest’s fears.

He’s not prepared for when the man’s lips brush over the underside of his cock, and he tastes the skin. The way that Castiel strokes him, grabs him, the way that he slides his mouth and tongue along the shaft, the way he sucks—everything about it is incredibly novice. Dean’s had his share of blowjobs, and he’s received plenty from men and women far more talented than Castiel.

But there’s something about the entire situation that has him completely on edge. He keeps thinking about how beautiful the man before him is, how perfect he looks with bruises on his neck and his white collar crooked. He keeps thinking about the fact that this man is not only much older than him, but also a _priest_ and they are in a _church_ , doing perhaps one of the worst things possible that won’t get them arrested. The cautious, almost naïve way that Castiel takes him is more of a turn-on than anything else, too, because he can only think of how Father Cas has probably never done this before, that Dean is his first.

“Fuck, Cas…” Dean murmurs, running his hand through the man’s hair. Castiel stops briefly at the sensation of fingers in his hair, but quickly returns to Dean, running his tongue over the young man’s length and sucking in earnest.

Dean whispers encouragements, torn between closing his eyes and memorizing the vision of the man between his legs. He gives the priest tips, tells him what feels good and what to avoid, and Castiel is a quick learner. It’s not much longer until he can feel fire kindling deep within himself.

He buries a hand in Cas’ hair and grips tight to pull his head back. A slick _pop_ fills the room, and the priest’s panting is a deafening sound in Dean’s ears. He takes his cock in his hand, squeezing, stroking, twisting. Father Castiel closes his eyes just before strings of white spill across his face. Dean bites his lip, choking back the cry that tries to rip through him as he comes.

As he recovers, the hand in Castiel’s hair loosens. Dean sighs quietly, then peers down at the priest between his legs. The man’s face is blank, and he reaches up to pass his thumb across a closed eye, wiping away the come that sticks to his eyelashes. He stares at it for a moment, squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger as if checking the consistency. A moment passes before he raises it to his lips and licks it away.

Dean hums at the sight and slips his fingers in Castiel’s collar, pulling and encouraging him to stand.

“Sin looks good on you, Father,” Dean chuckles. He gently pushes Cas back against the wall again and leans in to run his tongue over a line of come, swallowing it down. “Tastes good, too.”

Castiel gives an impatient wiggle and tries to undo his pants. Dean, however, quickly grabs his wrists and pins them above the priest’s head, managing to keep them securely fastened to the wall with just one hand.

“Dean, I… Please,” he grunts and Dean presses his other hand to the priest’s bare stomach so that his hips thrust uselessly into the air.

The younger man leans forward to press cleaning kisses against Castiel’s stubbled cheeks and chin. “You’re awfully vague, you know that?” he grunts between them. “You want something… Be a bit more vivid with the description, hm?”

Castiel gives a frustrated noise and turns his head to force their lips to clash. His mouth is unforgiving and rough, completely dominating Dean’s with clashing teeth and tongue. One of his legs swings to wrap around Dean’s, pushing hard at the back of his knee and forcing him to stumble closer and catch himself on the wall. Their chests are flush now, and Dean appears pleasantly surprised. Castiel, on the other hand, looks like he’s barely holding in some kind of divine wrath.

He grinds against Dean, and the younger man hisses, still much too sensitive in the aftermath of his own orgasm. Father Castiel’s hands are free, and while Dean takes a moment to breathe, the priest works off the younger man’s clothes, pushing off the leather jacket and practically ripping off Dean’s undershirt to send it hurtling to the ground.

Dean opens his mouth to say something, but the man quiets him with a forceful kiss and digs his fingers into his hips. The brunette slides a hand down to Castiel’s crotch, feeling him through the layers of fabric, and the priest’s breath hitches and he stills, nails digging deeper into the other’s hips. Dean can feel where the man’s cock strains against the fabric, the wet spot where the head rubs and drips. He slowly kneads at it, a cocky grin on his face as he watches Cas wiggle between the wall and his hand.

“This what you want?” he asks quietly. The priest clasps his mouth shut, but it can only muffle a long groan. He nods his head, and Dean kisses gently at his neck. “Tell me.”

“I don’t _care_ what you do,” Castiel whimpers, torn between desperation and irritation. “Just fucking _touch_ me.”

Dean decides that’s a good enough answer for now and undoes the buttons and belt. He shimmies them halfway down the man’s thighs, and lets his fingers just trace over the hard lines of Castiel’s cock. The man gasps and keens at the touches, thrusting his hips in a greedy attempt to get more. Dean is more than happy to oblige, smearing the pre-come over his palm before slowly stroking the shaft.

He feels the priest practically melt beneath him, and it’s beautiful. He works slowly, tenderly, his mouth as soft as his touch. The chest against him rises and falls in quick succession and the fingers in his hips move up, scratching deep into Dean’s back. One cups the back of Dean’s head and guides him, eventually pulling him into a hot kiss. He murmurs something against his lips, something that Dean can’t even hear, just feels it in the way Castiel moves and breathes.

He tightens his grip, quickens his stroke. He can feel himself getting hard again, and that’s a blessing, because he hadn’t planned on leaving here with just a blowjob. Castiel is doing everything to keep his voice down, but he’s keening like a whore into Dean’s mouth, and the younger man swallows down every sound.

The priest has to pull away, lean his head back against the wall and close his eyes. His hands have slid up Dean’s back, clinging to the man’s shoulder, and they’re just short of an embrace.

“Dean, Dean, Dean.”

Castiel chants his name, his face flushed red. Dean runs his fingers through the priest’s hair, jerking faster, and he’s almost afraid that the man’s knees will give way and he’ll crumple to the floor. Father Castiel continues to babble, spilling out incoherent words as his hips stutter and try to move into Dean’s hand.

Dean can feel the change. He feels the sanity leak from the priest, who’s ready to fall over the edge any minute now… And he lets go.

The sound Castiel makes is like that of a wounded animal. His eyes snap open, and he scrambles to grab ahold of himself, so close to orgasm that it must be painful, but Dean is quick and pins him back down again.

“F- _fuck_ , Dean,” he gasps out, and this time he’s really putting up a fight to get out, rutting desperately against the much younger man for just the tiniest bit of friction. It looks like there are tears in his eyes, and he appears betrayed as he stares up into Dean’s smirking face.

“I want you to come while I’m inside of you,” Dean murmurs, pressing the words into Castiel’s mouth.

The priest is unimpressed though, and quickly moans, “Then just _do_ it, _please_.”

Chuckling, the brunette quickly kisses him again, then nods to the desk. “Go bend over—and _don’t_ touch yourself.”

Castiel stares at him for a long moment, as if weighing the costs and benefits, then nods and goes to desk, quickly trying to clear a space on the heavily cluttered surface. Meanwhile, Dean grabs his jacket, riffling through each pocket until he finally finds the small bottle of lube that he’d brought with him (just in case). Quickly, he walks to the office door to make sure it’s locked tight. When he glances back at Cas, his cock twitches, and he can’t help but give himself a couple strokes.

The priest is nearly naked now, his pants and underwear somewhere behind the desk, but the collar is still on, either forgotten or left purposefully. He’s half-bent over it, moving piles of books and papers around, trying to find someplace to put them in the crowded office. It’s funny how pale he is under his clothes, skin milky and untouched by the sun for who knows how many years.

Dean wonders if the man’s ever been to the beach, and he’s suddenly struck by an image of the two of them lying together in the sand, and the most terrifying part about it is that there’s nothing erotic about it at all.

He brushes that far back into the recesses of his mind and comes to stand behind Castiel, running his hands up and down the priest’s back. Cas is still moving some things, obviously having a hard time finding places to put them. He doesn’t seem to notice when Dean gets on his knees between Cas’ legs and kneads at his ass. The young man sets the bottle of lube on the floor next to him and spreads the other’s cheeks.

When Dean’s tongue slides across his hole, Castiel gasps and the brunette can hear something crash to the floor. As he allows himself to explore the rim of muscle and surrounding flesh, he listens to the sound of nails scratching against wood, hands searching for purchase on a cluttered desk.

He finally slides his tongue inside, there’s a loud _thunk_ and a muffled moan as the priest shoves his ass back, closer to Dean. The young man is relentless as he works the man open with his mouth, one finger soon coming up to slide in with it. Every once in awhile he hits a spot that makes Castiel jerk and whine, makes another book fall off the desk.

“Dean, I can’t take this,” the priest moans into the desk after a couple of minutes. The younger man has pulled his mouth away, working another finger into the wet hole to scissor Cas open.

Honestly, Dean’s surprised that the guy hasn’t jerked himself off yet. After all, there’s nothing stopping him anymore. If he decided to reach down and finish this off, there’s nothing Dean could do about it. Still, when Dean shifts so that he can have a better view of the man, the priest’s hands are clinging tightly to the edge of the desk, right next to his head.

“Tell me what you want,” Dean says, and he slides a third finger in. “Say it.”

Castiel bites his arm, and his eyes close tight, ass quivering around Dean’s fingers. When the priest refuses to answer him, he stops and holds Cas still. The man beneath him whimpers and tries to push back, attempting to urge Dean’s fingers to keep working him, but Dean won’t budge.

“ _Say it_ , Cas,” and his voice is darker, lips brushing over round flesh.

Castiel is silent for a moment, his legs shaking a bit, and Dean hears him mumble something.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Dammit, Dean,” the priest grits out, “I want you to _fuck_ me.”

Grinning, the brunette grabs the bottle of lube next to his knee and slicks himself down. “You don’t sound very convincing,” he purrs, glad to find himself so hard again. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

As Castiel beats a fist against the desktop, Dean stands, trying hard to be patient himself.

“Dean, _please_ ,” he chokes out, sounding on the verge of tears. “I need it. I need you, Dean. Please, just fuck me already. Shit, I’ve been ready to-to _come_ for nearly ten minutes. For God’s fucking _sakes_ , Dean. I need you inside me. Please, _please_ , Jesus Christ. _Fuck me_.”

And there’s the trigger for Dean. He has to bite down his own sound of pleasure at the blasphemies pouring from Castiel’s sweet lips, and there’s certainly no way he can resist after that. He lines himself up and is surprisingly slow as he sinks in. The priest hisses, tightening up immediately, and Dean smooths a hand over his back, gently shushing him.

“You gotta relax,” he mutters. “S’gonna hurt if you don’t relax.”

He waits a moment for Castiel to do so before he starts to push in again. The process is slow, but Dean allows his partner time to adjust. He leans his head back when he’s completely embedded and sighs at the ceiling.

“Christ, Cas,” he murmurs. He puts a hand on the priest’s bony hip, the other sliding up to his shoulder.

Dean’s fingertips brush over the plastic collar as he pulls his hips back. A shaky moan escapes the priest, and the younger man slips two fingers beneath the white strip around Castiel’s neck. As he thrusts back in, he pulls back on the collar. Cas gasps and forces himself up from the desk in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure on his neck. Dean smirks and pulls him up until the priest’s back is against his chest.

The young man sets up a slow rhythm, watching the thin piece of plastic slide right up under the priest’s jaw, exposing his neck which is mottled with bruises. He kisses them and moves the hand from Cas’ hip to his cock. The man whimpers and rolls his head back against Dean’s shoulder. He reaches a hand behind him and finds the brunette’s hair, running fingers through it desperately.

“Fuck, Dean, fuck,” he mutters, and Dean can’t help but think how funny it is that a man who is so articulate and well-spoken can be reduced to just the young man’s name and profanities.

Biting his neck, Dean speeds up, the sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the room. Cas moans, pulling at the man’s hair and encouraging every sensation of teeth and lips and tongue. Dean tightens his grip on the collar.

“You don’t know how hard it’s been,” Dean hisses, closing his eyes tight, “having to watch you Sunday mornings. All I heard was ‘fuck me’ coming out of that goddamn mouth of yours, and it was fucking hard not to take you right then.” The priest whimpers and lets go of Dean, putting both his hands flat on the desk to steady himself. The young man follows, keeping his mouth latched to Castiel’s neck and fisting his cock fast. “That’d be a good sermon. Just bend you over the altar and let the whole congregation watch while I fuck you. Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’ve been such a slut for my cock, bet you’d like to show everyone how much you love it.”

The way Castiel says his name after sends shudders through his body. And then he feels the man’s cock twitch in his hands, spurt strings of white across the desk and papers and books that he hadn’t managed to move. But Dean doesn’t relent. He pushes Cas so that the man is leaning on his forearms, hanging his head. He kisses the knob of the priest’s neck, nose brushing against the hair at the nape of his neck.

Dean’s finished soon after, hips stuttering and burying deep into Cas. As he comes down from his orgasm, he keeps himself pressed against the priest, his arms resting next to the man’s. They are like that for a long time, both coming down from their respective highs, waiting for the other to make the first move.

In the end, it is Dean. He presses another kiss to the back of the man’s neck before pulling out slowly. Once dislodged, he takes a few steps back and stretches. Cas stays exactly where he is, even when Dean begins wandering around, looking for something they can use to clean themselves off with. He looks at one of the tapestries on the wall, made of silk and depicting some scene that Dean didn’t recognize.

As he reaches out to grab it, Castiel’s voice grumbles, “If you touch that, I swear you’ll regret it.”

Dean stops and whips around, smiling innocently at the priest who is slowly pushing himself up to a standing position, flinching in the process.

“Regret it, huh? You got some kinky punishment you were thinking of?” Dean chirps.

Castiel shoots him an unamused look (and Dean notes that he missed some spots during his earlier clean-up of the man), then turns his gaze to his desk, running a hand through his hair. After a moment, he walks over to cabinet and pulls it open, grabbing a box of tissues and throwing it to (actually, more like _at_ ) Dean. Catching it, the young man complains when one of the corners hits him in the stomach. He takes it, though, opening it up and wiping off his fingers and limp dick.

There’s silence as they clean themselves, but Dean breaks the silence. “Hey, uh, just so you know, you don’t have to worry about getting anything. I’m always safe; well, uh, except for this time. But I got tested a couple weeks ago, so you should be fine.”

Castiel sniffs, throwing a handful of used tissues into the trashcan next to his desk. “Such inspiring words from a man who would seduce a member of the clergy,” he remarks sarcastically. He turns to his desk again, but decides that putting his clothes on is more important and begins shimmying into them.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice is soft as he approaches. When Cas begins to button his pants, Dean saddles right into his personal space. He reaches up and cups either side of the man’s face, kissing him tenderly for a long moment. “You need to relax.”

Dean smiles when he pulls away, no trace of smugness there, and Castiel quirks his head to the side, staring at him like he just can’t figure him out. Turning away, Dean begins to get dressed. In the meantime, Castiel takes to cleaning up his desk, muttering some profanity when he picks up a Bible, semen dripping from the cover.

“Pretty sure that’s thirty Hail Maries and a year without sex,” Dean smirks, and Castiel rolls his eyes wordlessly. As he pulls on his leather jacket, he says, “We should go to dinner sometime.”

Castiel turns around immediately, looking confused. “This was a one-time thing, Dean,” he says carefully, unbuttoning his collar only to fit it back onto his neck once his shirt is on. “There are several things _deeply_ wrong about what we just did, especially for me. If someone found out about this, I could be _excommunicated_. Do you understand what that means? That is being kicked out of the church, the one thing I’ve—“

Dean steps forward and silences him with another soft kiss. “Hey, I just said dinner. If you don’t wanna fuck again, that’s fine. No one’s gonna find out about this. I won’t tell, and you sure as hell won’t, either. But you can go to dinner, can’t you? Ain’t nothing in the Bible forbidding that.”

“Why would you want to go to dinner if you know there’s no intercourse in your future?” Cas asks, and Dean would laugh if it weren’t for the burn in his chest.

He shrugs, looking down as he adjusts his belt and jacket. “I don’t know. Just thought it might be nice to get to know you some more. That’s all.”

He can feel Castiel staring at him, and the tension is so thick that he can barely stand it. He grabs the bottle of lube from the ground and wraps it in a tissue, stuffing it into his pocket, then heads for the door, confused by the stinging in his lungs.

As he unlocks the door, Castiel clears his throat, forcing Dean to look back.

“Perhaps… Perhaps we could go to dinner,” he says slowly but is quick to tack on, “but only if it is _completely_ platonic! This… This _can’t_ happen again. You need to understand that.”

Dean tries to suppress his smile, even as he feels himself growing lighter. “Yeah, definitely. Completely platonic, gotcha. How about Connor’s Diner on Thursday night? Six okay?”

He’s afraid the priest is going to back out by the way he hesitates, but Castiel ends up nodding with a sigh. “That is… fine.”

Dean’s smile grows and he nods, unlocking the door. “Awesome. See you then.” He starts to leave but stops a moment to glance back at the older man. “Oh, by the way—“ he taps his cheek, “You got a little something there.”

The last thing he sees before he closes the door is Castiel’s face turning bright red.


End file.
